


springtime lover

by rascherri



Category: Blood of Zeus (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, Other, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, listen i just wanted to write somthin abt apollo being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rascherri/pseuds/rascherri
Summary: You turn in his hold, as best as you can. His arms leave you. His hands, instead, take hold of your face to kiss you. His lips are soft. They always are. He is warm too, as he always is. He is the god of the sun, and is everything that it embodies. He is bright, and warm, and all encompassing. The kiss is the first in many months, and you do not draw away even when you fear you’ll soon need to breathe.He is the one that parts from you. It does not last. He presses his lips to the apple of your cheeks, and to your cheekbones, and to the temple of your head. You can feel your stomach flutter. You move so close that your chests are touching now. You tangle your hand in his hair, and he curls an arm around your waist.
Relationships: Apollo/Reader, Apollo/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	springtime lover

Where the warmth is, Apollo follows. He does not like the cold. It is a bone deep feeling— something that follows death, and something that preludes death. He cares not for the emptiness it leaves behind, or the frosty nature of it beforehand. It is unyielding. It permeates all that it touches, and invades what it doesn’t to get to it. Apollo does not like the cold.

It is why he flees to Hyperborea. The land of eternal spring is his winter home, a place that frigid winds and snows truly can not touch. He is worshipped there more than any other. It is, in truth, a second home. It is his mother’s homeland; his mother that he loves so much. It is green as far as the eye can see. What the eye can’t see is simply obscured by vast many trees. Named, aptly, after the sun god himself. The Garden of Apollo, they call it. Bountiful trees of beauty and fruit, surrounded by grass and flowers and the animals that inhabit the area. 

It is where he finds his spring lover, as lovely as the eternal spring of the land itself. You are still as beautiful as you were three springs ago— three springs ago when he was bewitched by beauty he could not force himself to look away from. Three springs ago when he had kissed you, and not satisfied, had kissed you until you were out of breath. Had he ever felt the pressing need to seize another person before so strongly? He could think of no one besides Hyacinthus, and that was a comparison of great worry. If he could love you so, so strongly, then surely you would inevitably be loved by another. He could not bear the idea of you enduring the same fate as so many of his lovers. It struck his heart as painfully as Eros’ love arrow had once a many ages ago. He could not bear it, he could not. He would mourn for you the way he did Hyacinthus— so wholly that he would not raise the sun nor inspire the men with flutes and harps and poems. So he’d whisked you away, to Hyperborea. A land that worshipped him the way he worshipped you.

“My Y/N.” 

He engulfs you in his arms before you know he is upon you. You are smaller than him. He revels in it. He can enfold you in his arms completely. You are his to shield and his to adore.

“Apollo.” Your tone is sweet. Your summer lover has returned.

You reach up to touch his cheek from behind you. His lips have pressed themselves to the jugular of your neck. It is nearly suffocating the way he holds you and kisses the barren expanse of your skin. You expect nothing less from a man who loves so wholeheartedly as he does.

“Welcome home.” 

You turn in his hold, as best as you can. His arms leave you. His hands, instead, take hold of your face to kiss you. His lips are soft. They always are. He is warm too, as he always is. He is the god of the sun, and is everything that it embodies. He is bright, and warm, and all encompassing. The kiss is the first in many months, and you do not draw away even when you fear you’ll soon need to breathe. 

He is the one that parts from you. It does not last. He presses his lips to the apple of your cheeks, and to your cheekbones, and to the temple of your head. You can feel your stomach flutter. You move so close that your chests are touching now. You tangle your hand in his hair, and he curls an arm around your waist.

“You rush.” Is laughed out.

He is gentle when he rests his head on your shoulder. 

“I am famished.” 

He answers in such a way that your heart nearly misses it’s beat. You ponder on falling back into the grass behind you and smashing the flowers under the weight of your bodies as he sates his desire. You decide against it in the moment, more laughter falling from your lips instead.

“Your garden is always full with ripe fruit.” 

Your playful commentary makes him smile. You can feel it stretch across his face where his lips are on your shoulder. Laughed shakes his body. You are in the grass before you know it. Looking over you is Apollo, amber eyes shining in the sun that he has most certainly rose. He is beautiful. He is dazzling, as he always is. There is admiration in his gaze as he draws his fingers down the side of your face, and down further, until he is brushing his knuckles along your collarbone.

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm.” 

His question is low in tone. You can only manage out that weak response as you watch his face above you. He is nearly glowing, a hazy golden light just barely outlining his figure. 

“You are in my garden.” 

He says softly, eyes fluttering over your face and lower. You are wearing blue. It is a soft hue that mimics the morning sky. It is fitting on you, but he wishes nothing more in this moment than to strip you of it. Until all that is left is you and yourself. Under him.

“Yes. It is where I am closest to you.” 

Your answer makes his heart bang on the inside of its prison; if it were not contained so thoroughly, it would be here with you during all the moments it was not with Hyacinthus. You can see his cheeks darken, and think that it is endearing that he is flustered over such an innocently truthful statement. Whatever he had to say beforehand seems lost on him.

“You wait here for my return?” 

There is a smile on your lips. Raising a hand, you let your fingers brush down his face to twirl a finger in his pale hair. 

“Do you not await mine?” You drop your hand to fall onto your chest, and look away. “If not, I am mistaken. My heart feels ill.” 

“Don’t be foolish.” 

He is chiding you now, pulling you up and into his lap. He takes hold of your chin and stares down at you. His brows are knit together, his lips pressed firm. 

“I always return to you.” 

You can tell you have troubled the god, just a little. Your face breaks into a grin. You hide it by resting your forehead on his chest.

“Oh my, that is true.” 

You don’t let him see your eyes.

“Yet…” 

He catches your jaw with a hand, impatient. He lifts your face up this time, but you still do not meet his gaze. You can feel it on you, like the sun scorching down on earth. 

“You have not yet told me your feelings.” 

He had before. He did, every time he’d visited. Which was long in his mind, you were sure. But it was short in yours. You were desperate to hear him tell you that he had not forgotten you during his time away. That he had dreamed of you, or at least thought of you while away. It was a greedy desire that certainly had to be a bad trait, now that you acknowledged it.

But Apollo laughed. It was deep and smooth, and you could listen to it as often as he would allow. It was one of your favorite sounds. 

“Does my being here not serve to announce them blatantly? Do my physical affections have no standing on my feelings?” He inquired.

It was an answer you expected from him. He needn’t say anything explicitly, really. He never really had to. He said it in the physical pleasure of bed at night. He said it in the gold arm cuff that you could feel pressing into your skin. It was in the way he picked cherries by hand to feed them to you. It was in his eyes when he looked at you. You were asking him to state what he’d already said.

You relented your quest for what you originally wanted. Instead, you slide your arms about his neck and press soft kisses to his jaw. 

“Was your travel well?” You change the subject.

You did not see him arrive with his golden chariot and flaming steeds. He must have left them to the Hyperboreans to care for. No doubt that they were more than obliged.

“It is tedious when I think of you during it.” 

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives away your true feelings on the matter.

“And what of your stay on Olympus?” 

Usually he rejoices to gossip of his long stay in the home of the gods. Today, he sighs and falls back into the grass behind him. You go down with him, laying atop his chest now. 

“Father..” He pauses for a long moment. “Perished in a battle with Hera.” 

The revelation shocks you speechless. You knew well of the gods' quarrels.. but you had never heard of one dying before. Much less Zeus himself.

“Hera is nowhere to be found. The gods are struggling to find a replacement for them both. I do imagine a power struggle shall soon overcome Olympus. Both rulers have left empty seats to fill, and there are those that will vie for them.” 

He waved one of his hands in the air dramatically. 

“I do not want my father’s seat.” 

There were plenty of reasons why, but it was mostly that he had no interest in taking over the heavy mantle that came with the title of God of the Gods. He loved his family. He’d always loved his family. He did not want to have to be the one constantly at odds with them when it came down to ruling and punishment. As quick to anger he was, he was quick to regret his actions after. He often did not think things through immediately. A fatal flaw. A flaw that would tear him apart from his family. He was alot like his father, but he did not wish to end up like his father. No, he did not wish for that. 

“Oh! You would like my younger brother, Heron—“ 

You interrupt him in laughter.

“Another one?” 

“Another one.” He confirmed. “This one is important to him. Tiny, like you. Looks like his mother but has father's eyes. I think he might be lonely there in Olympus. I thought I might bring him here for a winter.”

Apollo’s tone was soft as he spoke of his new sibling. He must really like the new demigod. Or, well, assumed demigod. Most of Zeus’ children seemed to end up that way. 

“I think that would be nice. I don’t get to meet your family often.” 

You’d met Hermes once. The wing footed god was the closest of all Apollo’s siblings. He spoke of their time together often. He was kind when you’d met him; shook your hand in greeting and complimented you. He hadn’t stayed very long, though. He left not long after. Artemis had sought him out once before as well, and you’d been mesmerized by the beauty of her. She hadn’t said anything to you, but being in her presence alone was an honour. 

“I’d like to meet him.”

The man looked up at his lover, a gentle smile curving on his lips. 

“I’ll have you meet him then. He could use some friends. I don’t think he has many.” 

You blew air into Apollo’s face. He blinked away from the gust, nose wrinkling as he looked a bit away. 

“What?” He asked, incredulously. 

“I don’t have many friends either!” 

Apollo looked back up at you, squinting those golden eyes of his. Then he pursed his lips with childish amusement, fluttering his lashes at his lover. 

“You do not have friends here?” 

You pouted, huffing enough to blow out your cheeks and purse your lips. 

“I do… but they’re much taller than I. And… I feel more worshipped than befriended.”

Which was not far off. When you’re the beloved of their sacred sun god, of course you’d be treated as such. It wasn’t always a problem. It was nice to be treated with respect and considered important. That said, it wasn’t always a preferred dynamic. Sometimes you simply wanted someone to sit down and speak with as a friend and nothing more.

“You should be worshipped.” 

Apollo sounded matter of fact, and looked exceptionally smug when he stated it. Wrapping both bronze arms around your body, he squeezed you to his chest. He was quick to place kisses on your cheek and then to your jaw. 

“Little dove, you were born to be worshipped.” 

He was exaggerating. Ridiculous exaggeration, at that. You weren’t born to be worshipped; you were born to be a marriage pawn to your father amongst your other ten siblings. 

“You think too highly of me.” 

“You think too lowly of yourself. Should I remind you of our current positions? I’m under you, honeybee. Not above.” 

Oh? You looked down at the god underneath you. He smiled up at you cheekily. 

“Unless you take a god’s submission lightly?” 

He raised a brow at you. Butterflies filled your stomach. 

“Yes! Yes, do not elaborate. I understand.” 

He immediately smirked, looking triumphant. In his victory, he was quick to scoop you up princess style and stand. 

“Well then, let us go celebrate my arrival. And when we’re done, I think I would be pleased to celebrate my arrival alone with you.” 

You didn’t expect to suddenly be whisked up, but the implication of the evening’s later events did not come as a surprise. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you allowed yourself to be carried off. From today on, you had three months of him. You could suffer to share him for one of the days. Even if you’d have much rather stayed in his garden and prodded him for more gossip about the drama surrounding Olympus.

**Author's Note:**

> this is quite honestly my first time writing an x reader / reader insert so.. i hope it was okay? anyways i wrote this mostly at like three am while alternating between the death note musical sound track, grimes, and greek mythology inspired music. i wanted to write abt soft apollo.. yeah. i hope you enjoy! pls leave me your thoughts below. okay thanks bye!!


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